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Kaijaii Gomez Wick

They say you are a limb, an appendage,
attached to me by meathooks or finger traps,
something that needs to be cut off. They
do not know of you, your eternal, your infinite.

You, first color in the void, you,
when-you-love-you love-unto-infinity, you, joy
of moving hands, you,
the-smallest-thing-is-worthy-of-my-rapture,
you, the beginning of creation. You, there at
the start, you, me born smiling because I had you,
you, divine ecstasy that rescues from agony. You,
lights that swim with a flick of an eye, you,
obsess, you, sharpen-my-mind-onto-the-head-of-a-pin,
you, and-dance-on-that-pin, you. You, manic-fire-of-want,
you, loneliness a candy, you, crave-with-all-your-skin, you.

You.
Softness rubbing against my cheek, the celebration of ritual,
day after day, a stone to rest, foundations scraping
the skies for me to lie on and writhe in perfection.
You, demand-of-me-to-know-thyself,
you, protector-of-self, you, without whom I would have
been dashed against the rocks, would have jumped
without a twitch of fear, without the calm you bring me.

They call you changeling-arranger,
stealer of children, kidnapper of potential. They know

nothing.
Their eyes have never exploded with the colors of elation
at the taste of a single fruit, their fingertips never become
their entire world at the touch of silk. Their feet know nothing
of singing when they touch the earth,

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